


Sherlock's Last Vow

by BeaverHatsAreTheCoolest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major character death - Freeform, Saddness, Sadness, Suicidal Thoughts, What would happen if..?, my take on The Last Vow, oh so many feels, season three, sherlock is really dramatic and so am I, slight descriptions of gore, sort-of-scary-assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaverHatsAreTheCoolest/pseuds/BeaverHatsAreTheCoolest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought came to me, wow that whole Mary not really being Mary but a sort-of-scary-assassin Mary could have had a terrible fall out. Good thing she did actually love John. And this fic is my take on what I think could have happened if some things were different. </p>
<p>Disclaimer: I am only a poor college student, I actually own nothing. That is all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Last Vow

Empty. That’s how he wished he felt. He yearned for the bliss that not caring anymore would bring. He begged to go back to not caring as before. Before John.  
What he felt instead was infinitely worse. It was a raging, living thing. A wild animal roaring, clawing, gnawing, hacking, was rending his insides apart. On that day his already fractured soul shattered, leaving nothing behind but a wild twisted piece. Tormented.  
You should have observed something. Anything. You could have stopped her… The thought seemed to repeat itself, with each manifestation a new throb of mental anguish swept over him.  
In his hand he held the only thing that could comfort him. He stared into the darkened flat. He sat in darkness most days, unable to bare the sight of their- his flat. It had been only his for a while now. Funny how sentiment can make you forget the facts.  
His fingers rubbed the piece of metal in his hands. It was his life line. One of the few things he had left of his friend. It was fitting that it would be his escape from this unbearable reality, like his friend rescuing him once more. Slowly he lifted the gun to eye level in a daze. Automatically he checked it over. Full rounds. His lips twitched upwards remembering that after that first misuse, his friend had dragged him to a firing range, determined that if he couldn’t keep him away from the gun, the least he could do was teach him how to properly use it.  
You taught me well..  
He lifted it and gently pressed the barrel of the gun to his chin. His mind already cataloging what his corpse will look like. No chance of survival. The thought was soothing. He spared a brief thought to what the others would say, and flinched away from the image of Mrs. Hudson finding his cooling corpse.  
Unlike John, he would be taking his own life.  
Everyone who matters will already know why… Obvious... even they couldn’t miss it. No need for a note, dull. Everything was dull now. The work was no longer enough  
He blinked sluggishly. Maybe he had taken too much, he blinked again shoving that train of thought away. As if it matters now. John wasn’t here to berate him.  
He was already anticipating the moment when he would no longer feel this wrenching agony that was burning him up inside. Mycroft was right, Caring is not an advantage.  
You haven’t suffered enough. The thought flickers into his head. You failed him..  
Slowly he puts the gun down. Already he missed the calming cold contact against his jaw. He disarmed the browning, hearing a faint echo of John’s voice scolding him when he had failed to do so in the past and placed it next to him, on the floor.  
Tipping his head back, he slumped into the wall for support. Hearing the never ending loop of himself saying: “I will always be there for you…” He had watched helpless as Mary shot his friend in the head, forming a grotesque parody of a grin when the half of John’s jaw and head was blown away. He once again saw the image flashing through his mind. Remembering every detail, could see again the blood seeping onto the carpet, staining everything red. “I should have stopped her. I should have done something- should have seen she was anything but who I thought-.” He moaned to the darkness of the empty room.  
He didn’t deserve the ending the gun would bring, even though he ached for the numbing nothing of death and the escape it would provide. A new fire lit, this time the rage was directed outwards. He still had something he needed to do. He shook his head “John.. I ... will make a true vow. A final vow. One I will not break. I will find her and whoever sent her. And I promise I will end them… like she ended you...”  
Sherlock quietly stood. “The game is on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
